Letters Unread
by whitetiger91
Summary: They tell her she shouldn't blame herself, but Minerva can't help but think she's responsible for Dougal's death.


_**A/N: This story was written for the International Wizarding School Championships forum. It is my entry for the Wizarding World News' Grammar School Challenge, Comma Usages, Issue Three. **_

_**School: Mahoutokoro School of Magic**_

_**Position: Part-time**_

_**Word count: 937 words (+10% leeway, written on Google docs).**_

_**Additional notes: This story was similar to the first plot I had for a Minerva/ Dougal story for this round. It's not quite what I had in mind, and I do apologise for that (their story is so tragic I really wanted to do it justice rather than... this), but I want to do my part for my team after a bit of an absence (aka taking advantage of the bushfires here and roasting marshmallows ;)).**_

_**I'm not sure how others see Dorcas (she's rather pretty in the Potter wiki image), but for the purpose of this story, I needed someone a little motherly and soft. Since she was an Auror during the Second Wizarding War, still alive at the time this takes place (circa 1970s), and is a fairly minor character, I chose her. **_

_**This is somewhat an AU—not the letters themselves as Minerva apparently kept them under her pillow at Hogwarts, but rather the content of the last. **_

_**I hope you enjoy this nonetheless, and thank you for reading! Xx**_

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**Letters Unread**

"Minerva…"

"More tea, Dorcas?"

"No thank you."

Minerva ignored her companion's sigh as she poured herself another cup of tea, choosing to focus on the steaming rising from the cup rather than Dorcas' concerned face. She knew what the woman was going to say, but she didn't need to hear it.

"I'd best be going now, but you know what happened wasn't your fault, right? You couldn't have done anything to save him," she said, reaching a hand across the kitchen table.

Her blue eyes bored into Minerva's green, a sympathetic smile on her face. Dorcas was one of the very few people who knew just how much Dougal McGregor had meant to her. She'd been one of the first Aurors to hear of his death—along with that of his wife and children—at the hands of Death Eaters the week before, and the first to see her shed tears upon delivering the news.

Minerva knew she probably wouldn't leave until she convinced her she was fine, and she plastered on a small smile. "I know, thank you. I should be getting on with some lesson planning anyway."

Dorcas' lingered for a moment before she finally nodded and stood up. Minerva thanked her for her visit—the fifth that week—and led her to the door, promising to send an owl should she need her.

As soon as she was gone, Minerva let out a sigh. She headed over to a small cabinet in the dining room, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a pile of envelopes strung together with twine. Her hands trembled slightly as she took them over to the table and sat down.

Picking up her cup of tea, she stared at the letters written years ago. They all contained the same message from Dougal, where he begged and begged for her to reconsider his marriage proposal. Perhaps if she'd accepted and stayed by his side, he wouldn't have been killed. He wouldn't have been left undefended against a group of wizards, let alone living in a Muggle village without knowledge a war was taking place.

Her eyes stung as she picked up one of the envelopes, the sight of his untidy scrawl bringing the memories rushing back. She'd never felt happier as she'd felt by the farmer's side, never laughed as hard at the rather silly jokes he made. The letter itself was full of them, all puns on why he'd make a great husband, almost able to hide the turmoil he'd been feeling. It was also full of hopes and dreams of a sole Muggle life, however, reminding Minerva why she'd broken his—and her own—heart.

Glancing over at the cabinet where a sepia portrait of her family sat, Minerva tried to still the guilt she felt inside, focusing on her mother. The woman was smiling as she held her husband's hand, but Minerva could see that it didn't quite meet her face. Her mother absolutely loved her father, but she'd confessed to her many a time that she was miserable not being able to use magic around him. Living life as a Muggle with such a big secret was too much of a burden for her to bear, and as Minerva's eyes trailed further along the cabinet, taking in various magical objects like her wizard's chess set and first-edition Transfiguration books, she knew she'd never have been able to give it up herself.

Still, as she took another sip of tea and tried to blink back her tears, she couldn't help but wonder at what cost. Surely Dougal's life was more precious than being able to wave around a wand?

She put down the letter and picked up another envelope, one she hadn't opened. Dougal had never given up on her, sending letter after letter, even when she stopped replying. She'd had to stop herself from opening them in the end, not sure she'd be able to read on without having the temptation to reply and spur on further mail. It'd been a relief when the letter hadn't been followed by others, even more so when she'd heard from her somewhat disappointed mother that he'd finally moved on.

"Well, he won't be able to reply now, anyway," she said to herself.

She placed her cup on the table and carefully tore open the envelope. The letter appeared shorter than the others, the script tidier as though he'd had to think carefully first. There were none of the usual quips or jokes in it, and as Minerva read the letter, her heart pounding, she wished there was.

_My dearest Minnie, _

_I've had rather the strangest day. Certainly, what your mother confided in me today was not what I was expecting; when she'd requested a visit, I'd thought she was there on your behalf to rebuke me for my insistence. _

_But, Minnie, my love, I now understand. I know what you are; you don't have to hide it from me anymore. Not now, not ever. It doesn't matter to me—it was a shock, yes, but it's okay. What matters is that I have you. _

_My love for you grows stronger each second. Please return to me._

_Love always, your Dougal. _

She didn't care that she knocked over her tea cup, causing tea to spill across her table, as she stood up. She stared at the letter through blurry eyes, unable to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks, nor her heart from tearing. Dougal had known; he'd known and he hadn't cared. They could've been together.

Bringing the letter to her chest, Minerva sank to the floor. Dorcas was wrong; Dougal's death was all her fault.


End file.
